Shortly after regaining consciousness, I felt myself lying on something incredibly soft. Upon opening my eyes, I found myself on a bed made of animal hides, as warm as it was inviting. My wounds, which had once burned with unbearable pain, seemed to have vanished, as if time had erased them entirely. I rose carefully, feeling my body respond with an odd lightness. To one side, atop a drawer, were my belongings. I dressed slowly, noticing the gaping hole pierced through my shirt.
—Confirmed, it wasn't a dream, —I said, forcing a smirk.
The creak of hinges made me turn. A young woman with hair and eyes as blue as the sky peered through the door. Her attire was that of a traditional butler, but the twin braids framing her face betrayed her femininity. In her hands, she held a silver tray, and her gaze was as gentle as her voice.
—The monarch ordered me to deliver this gift, —she said, opening the tray. Inside lay a crisp white button-up shirt, neatly folded—. Your shirt was ruined by the warrior Jannes. The monarch thought white would suit the color of your hair.
I took the shirt with both hands, holding it up. It was soft, flawless—an absolute contrast to the clothes I wore. The girl continued, leaning slightly forward.
—We are well aware of the treatment you endured, —she said, bowing her head—. We regret how we treated you. Forgive us. We mistook your pink eyes for red and assumed you were a traitor.
I looked at her with a mix of pity and surprise. It was clear she bore no blame—she was merely following orders. Why send a mere servant to apologize to a stranger? A lump formed in my throat at the thought of the fear she must've felt approaching me.
—Why send a mere servant to face a possible traitor? —I asked, trying to keep my tone kind.
She straightened, but her cheeks were flushed, tears streaking down her face. Did she truly feel this way about me? Or was it just the weight of her orders?
—My name is Finn, —she said, wiping her tears—. The monarch wishes to speak with you.
Her gaze dropped, as if she didn't want me to see the sadness in her eyes. I slipped on the white shirt, the fresh fabric brushing against my skin. As I stepped out, Finn waited for me. She took my hand with surprising gentleness and led me through the castle halls. Her scent was sweet, like freshly cut flowers, but the air around us smelled of dust and antiquity, as if time itself had stalled within those walls.
Upon reaching the main hall, Finn released my hand and bowed before the monarch. The throne was imposing, gilded, so polished I could see my reflection in it. The man seated there had a trimmed brown beard and long hair cascading over his shoulders. His crown gleamed with its own light, and his gaze was as cold as it was calculating.
—Pink-haired youth, —he said, snapping his fingers—. We deeply regret the treatment you received.
A group of guards entered, hauling two large bags that clinked as they were set before me.
—Those bags contain two hundred sifted silver coins. Enough for you to live two centuries without worry.
A drop of saliva escaped my lips at the thought of such wealth. But before I could react, a thunderous crash echoed behind me. The solid metal door had been slammed against the wall. It was that knight who'd saved my life—Valdor.
He strode to the throne and knelt before the monarch.
—My lord, I beg you not to let this young man leave.
A knot tightened in my throat. What had I done? Why didn't he want me to go?
—This warrior fought Knight Jannes. Despite his frail frame, he possesses monstrous strength, —he said, driving his sword into the floor—. Let me train him. Let him join the ranks of Narnest's warriors.
The monarch looked at Valdor, then at me, and finally at the bags of silver.
—Valdor, I understand your plea, —he said, gesturing to the bags—. I'd permit his training, but I doubt the youth would refuse this offer.
I rose, ready to accept the money. But before I could speak, Valdor cut in.
—Think carefully, boy, —he said, wrenching his sword free—. You don't just want strength to defend yourself. You want the power to help others.
His words didn't reach me. I'd already been a hero once, and such things no longer interested me.
—Or perhaps you'd like the strength to reclaim what was taken from you. A precious gem, a legendary weapon… or someone from your family.
My heart skipped a beat. My jaw clenched. How could he know? He'd guessed—but his words struck the deepest part of my soul.
Time seemed to freeze. The world around me turned gray, and in that haze, that god—Histor—appeared.
—What do you want? —I demanded, hostility sharp in my voice.
—That tone, —he chuckled—. I see you're facing an easy choice. Take the money and live happily for the rest of your life. —Before I could reply, he pulled what looked like a marble from his pocket—. Put this to your eye.
Reluctantly, I held the stone up to my eye. What I saw chilled my blood. My sister stood gripping a sword, beside a blurred figure glowing like Histor—was that another god?
—What you see is the god Jouny Sama training your sister, —he said, crushing the marble to dust in his palm—. He's also the god who stole Ego's body. —He closed the distance between us in an instant—. Marl, as my only request: grow stronger. Save your sister. Kill the envious god Jouny Sama where he stands.
—You can't do it yourself, you idiot god.
—There are rules among gods. One cannot kill another. That's what champions are for, —he said, flashing a mocking grin—. Unless you'd rather your sister live eternally as a mindless weapon for a murderer. Grow stronger.
His words hit me like a hammer. Time resumed, and I glanced one last time at the silver. Two centuries was a long time—but what use was it if my sister remained trapped in that god's grasp? I swallowed, the decision crystallizing in my mind.
—How strong would you make me? —I asked Valdor.
He grinned, brimming with confidence.
—Strong enough to be a champion.
I laughed, feeling everything click into place. As if that idiot god had planned it all. I didn't know how to reach the gods, how strong they were, or if other paths existed. I only knew I had to become stronger—strong enough to be taken seriously.
—Monarch, can't I choose both the money and the training?
—The money would fund your training—weapons you'll wield, armor you'll shatter.
I laughed one last time. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start.
I stepped away from the silver, extending my hand to Valdor.
—I want to grow stronger. Think you can help me?
—Of course, boy. With your talent, it'll be easy.
Maybe this is what you meant by giving me the power to achieve it. You're an idiot god… but I still respect you.
In this world of swords and shields, I'll train. I'll grow stronger. I'll save my sister. This is only the beginning—the first step toward my goal.
—Marl Stimson. This is the start. The start of your legend. The legend of Marl. My champion, —said the god Histor, vanishing from the castle into the unknown.